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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703420">The Many Faces Of Clara Oswald</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSnow1/pseuds/RedSnow1'>RedSnow1</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adorable, Angst and Feels, Awesome Clara Oswin Oswald, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hugging, Idiots in Love, Library, Light Angst, Pre Face The Raven, Sad and Happy, Soft Twelfth Doctor, TARDIS Rooms, Twelfth Doctor Era, Twelveclara, happy with a sad ending, soft, whouffaldi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 04:15:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSnow1/pseuds/RedSnow1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Doctor, what’s that?” She said, holding out her latest discovery for him to see.</p><p>“What’s what?” The Doctor answered, abandoning his desperate search and screwing his eyes, hoping to see what she was going on about. Suddenly, his eyes widened, a soft blush crept onto his blemish cheeks. Swiftly, he hoped on the ground, his manuals forgotten as he hurried to her side. “Oh — It’s nothing. Nothing at all.” He kept on repeating, carefully walking up to her. </p><p> </p><p>/OS/<br/>Whouffle Week 2020, Day 3 : Bad Timing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whouffle Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Many Faces Of Clara Oswald</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello friends, me again, here for another fluffy/angsty story (that's my brand).</p><p>For today's prompt, I had two ideas in mind so guess what? You are getting a double treat today (well... I hope it is a treat!)</p><p>For this story, I was not-betaed, I wrote it last minute. Since I am French, it is possible that you might find some mistakes. I tried my best not to make too many, but sometimes, I can't help it.<br/>Thank you to my dear friend @Persephonia1 for her helpful advice and support.</p><p>Happy reading and don't hesitate to leave a comment to let me know what you thought of this story xx</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It always came down to those small moments between their adventures. Those moments where it was just Clara Oswald and the Doctor — no threats, no running, just two people enjoying each other’s company. They would eat, rest or hang out inside the TARDIS, discussing one matter after the other and appreciating everything that life had thrown their way.  Clara, lately, had been longing for those intimate, simple moments. They reminded her that sometimes, the best times were the most uncomplicated ones. She loved adventure like any other women — but being with him alone was nearly as epic in itself.</p><p>They had settled down inside the enormous library. The Doctor wanted to check some historical facts over their next destination, which was something he didn’t always do, clever man that he was. Here they were, browsing in silence, aware of the knowledge surrounding them. In the past, the Doctor had clarified that should Clara want to borrow any of the volumes, she could get them without asking. That's what she intended to do.</p><p>There was so much — from the past, the future. Everything that ever was, or could be. Books that had never been published, some that had long disappeared. She could not believe she had access to it all. A never-ending source of knowledge. Some people would have gladly given their lives to be in her shoes. Her steps had taken her to the Jane Austen aisle, but she had already read the many volumes the Doctor had gathered across time and space — some for her own amusement. Her heart fluttered at the thought, imagining him, begging the writer to borrow her original work because he knew how much she admired her. He had taken her to meet her hero, once or twice, and those were moments she would forever cherish.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you finding anything to your liking?” He yelled, across the room, perched on top of his ladder, trying to reach a manual.</p><p> </p><p>He looked silly, his hand stretched to reach the top shelf, his tongue sticking out of his mouth. Clara smiled at him but shook her head silently. She had always been awful at making choices. Why choose when you could have it all? Perhaps she was being greedy. Perhaps she had a feeling that summer couldn’t last forever. She was overwhelmed by the need to read them all, yet knowing that she would probably need more than a lifetime to get around half of them. But she wanted to learn. The more she knew about the worlds around her, the more she could help the Doctor, should they be facing imminent danger. Or maybe she just wanted to be like him: smart beyond reason. She sighed. There was too much choice, not enough time. Where to begin? She stood there, her shoulders down, admiring the books, hoping for a miracle.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you could always try some eighteenth-century French literature. Did I ever mention the time I spent with Diderot? Oh, he was a man —”</p><p> </p><p>She giggled softly, half-listening to his tale about the French revolution and how he had ended up inside the Bastille, inspiring Voltaire to create his character Gordon in his tale l<em> ’Ingénu </em>. She loved hearing about his adventures before he met her as much as she loved living them by his side. Her eyes, however, had caught a book she had never seen before. An old leather-bound book, lost on the table amongst history manuals, out of place. Her fingers traced its spine — it was impeccably dusted, unlike the other volumes, which led her to believe that it had been used quite recently. She carefully dislodged it from its hiding place, seizing it in her hand. There was no title on the front page, nor anything behind either. It was blank and felt as if it didn’t belong. Clara quirked her eyebrows, her curiosity getting the best of her.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor, what’s that?” She said, holding out her latest discovery for him to see.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s what?” The Doctor answered, abandoning his desperate search and screwing his eyes, hoping to see what she was going on about. Suddenly, his eyes widened, a soft blush crept onto his blemish cheeks. Swiftly, he jumped on the ground, his manuals forgotten as he hurried to her side. “Oh — It’s nothing. Nothing at all.” He kept on repeating, carefully walking up to her. </p><p> </p><p>Clara took a step back, amused to see the horror creeping on his face. She wondered who he was trying to convince : himself or her? Either way, he was doing a terrible job. Clara shook her head, not buying his strange behavior. He was hiding something from her and she was eager to find out what it was. He would tell her. He always did.</p><p> </p><p>“It doesn’t look like nothing.” She said, motioning to open the first pages.</p><p> </p><p>The book was old, very old. And the pages smelled heavenly like ancient books did. Clara grinned softly, opening a random page in front of her. It was filled with scribbles: his writing for sure. Had she stumbled upon his journal? Gosh, that would be awkward. She didn’t manage to get a glimpse of anything before he reached her, shutting the book in her hands in a hurried and desperate motion. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s personal.” He said, diving into her eyes. Trying to make her understand that it was not the time to banter. He was ever so serious. “It’s — something I want to show you. Someday. But not today.” He snatched the item off her hand, and she let him.</p><p> </p><p>She knew him well enough now not to push him to reveal something he was not comfortable sharing with her yet. Whatever this book held, it clearly meant a lot to him. She could see it in the way he held on to it, tight against his chest, protecting the artifact — or his hearts ? Clara was curious but respectful of his boundaries. Especially since he had been more open to her lately, ever since that Christmas. That Heaven Sent day that had seen their reunion.</p><p> </p><p>“But you know what you should read? Emile Zola!”</p><p> </p><p>Clara chuckled lightly and shook her head at his poor attempt to distract her. He turned his back on her, scanning the library for something else for her to read. She could almost imagine his red cheeks, and it made her heart swoon. Carefully, she flung her arms around his torso, holding him from behind, her head resting on top of his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, nor tensed and part of her felt proud of the progress he had made. The Doctor stood there, allowing her into his personal space. Not only did he initiate some of their embraces, but he welcomed them. Her heart fluttered as he slowly raised his hand to hold her closer, their fingers entwined. She smiled, her mouth against the fabric of his shirt, and closed her eyes, appreciating the warmth of their embrace, rocking him, trying to make him understand how much he meant to her. How grateful she was. His hearts were pounding against her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Or — we could always — go somewhere?” He whispered, rubbing soft circles on top of her palm, soothing her. “Would you fancy a trip to the second most beautiful garden in the universe?”</p><p> </p><p>Clara’s face lightened at the thought. He knew how to tempt her. He always knew what to say. How could she refuse ? He was giving her the universe, and that alone was worth all the books in the world. Besides, she would always find time to read, she always did. But right now, more than anything, she wanted to be with him, scouring the worlds, rescuing unfortunate souls, making a difference. She wanted to fight by his side because it was the best place to be, and she would never trade it. Not for anything in the world. </p><p>She let go of him, and he turned around to face her.</p><p> </p><p>“You still owe me dinner. Space restaurant. Remember?” She reminded him.</p><p> </p><p>He chuckled, burying his hand into his fluffy hair. He had forgotten! Again! He always did. She nudged him playfully, not mad at the slightest. He would have to make it up to her. The garden sounded delightful but she was craving some alone time with him.</p><p> </p><p>“We could always do both? We are time-travellers. Time is the only thing we will never run out of.”</p><p> </p><p>He discarded his beloved book on plain sight, as a promise : one day, he would reveal everything that was written inside, and on that very same day, he would surrender his heart to her. But Clara’s grin had disappeared, her face sombre now, thinking of what he had just said. Would they? Never run out? It seemed unlikely. One day, she would be too old to keep on running. One day, she would have to let him go. Or maybe he will? Who knew? Clara shrugged. This should be the least of her worries at the moment. She shook her head and put on her softest grin before he turned around. He smiled. That soft genuine smile that made her heart lighter. She reciprocated. They were only inches away from one another, smiling widely like two kids who had too much sherbet, staring into each other’s soul. Face to face, noses almost touching, hearts beating in harmony.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.” She said.</p><p> </p><p>And that was all she needed to say. He beamed and took a hold of her seemingly smaller hand, wrapping it into his. He always held it tight, which made her wonder who needed it the most. She smiled. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. They were going on an adventure.</p><p>Hands in hand, they ran to the control room, passing by Donna’s hat room and the Art Gallery, laughing happily. And suddenly, it felt as if nothing wrong would ever happen to them. As long as they stuck together, they could endure anything. At least that was what Clara Oswald thought as she pulled the lever, sending them into the great beyond.</p><p>As for the book, it remained forgotten on the table — and it would remain that way for a very long time. Despite his willingness, the Doctor never finished his project and eventually forgot about it, as he forgot all about Clara Oswald who never got a chance to see what was inside. </p><p>Maybe he should have told her straight away. Maybe she should have insisted. Or maybe the timing just wasn't right and this moment was never meant to be.</p><p>But had they known, back then, that such a tragedy would occur perhaps the Doctor would have let Clara peek inside, and see what secrets it held. Perhaps they would have sat down in the corner of the library, just the two of them, as it should be. Together, they would have opened the book. The Doctor would have blushed; Clara would have cried. And maybe, just maybe, they would have kissed, the book open on their laps, the title on display.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The Many Faces of Clara Oswald And How To Understand Them. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ever since I saw that deleted scene about Twelve saying he has been writing down Clara's faces in order to understand them, I've been obsessed with it and I had to write about it :')</p></blockquote></div></div>
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